


Stolen bases, stolen hearts

by starryskeyess



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Co-workers, F/F, Friends to Lovers, SHEITH - Freeform, Softball, Softball lesbians, femsheith, i said what i said, this is completely self-indulgent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:00:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26673304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starryskeyess/pseuds/starryskeyess
Summary: When Lance proposes the staff at Altea Tech join a Summer Softball League, nobody is convinced it's a good idea.  But it's a lot more fun than any of them could have expected--and Shiro's feeling something a little deeper than healthy competition.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 28
Collections: Femsheith Exchange 2020





	Stolen bases, stolen hearts

**Author's Note:**

> This piece was written for the Femsheith Exchange for @/didules. Your prompt ideas were so fun, I really hope you like where I went with them!!
> 
> The prompts I used to inspire this piece were: long-haired and tattooed Keith, Shiro and Keith who have been friends for a long time and Shiro has a "that's hot" moment when she sees Keith's tattoo

It starts with a bright yellow flyer. An ugly one, at that.

It catches Shiro’s attention on her way into the breakroom. She’s curious, despite herself, at not only who could have made such an ugly thing, but _why_ they thought it was a good idea to use that shade of yellow.

Her quick glance tells her what she needs to know--Lance.

The flyer is an invitation to join the company slowpitch softball team. She isn’t sure whether to laugh or cry.

Lance has taken his position at Altea Tech, ‘Internal Relations Coordinator,’ quite seriously. Each week he comes up with new ways to bolster camaraderie, each seeming to be a little more ridiculous. Though, to be fair, they’re actually pretty effective.

Shiro was sure ‘knife throwing’ lessons would end up with a blade thrown right at one of Lance’s extremities, but it had been really fun. Keith had been the closest to actually injuring him, shaving off some threads of Lance’s tailored jacket, earning her quite a few choice words from him. She’d whispered to Shiro under her breath as they were leaving about how she’d known how to throw knives since she was young. They had laughed together quietly as Lance raged, and vowed to outlaw Keith from future team-building.

The threat had been hollow, as everyone knew it was, and Keith showed up at the next activity, and the one after that.

Keith was fascinating.

Beautiful, and brilliant, and bold, she’d whirled into Altea Tech, and into Shiro’s life, three years ago on a red motorcycle and a sharp smile. She wasn’t particularly chatty, but she also wasn’t afraid to speak her mind no matter the circumstances. Shiro respected that, and enjoyed her style. They’d become friends almost instantly, working together with ease and mutual respect. 

It had taken a little longer for her to connect with the rest of the team, despite Shiro’s encouragement. Eventually she got there, though most things that come out of Lance’s mouth still spark pretty aggressive eye rolls from Keith. 

When Shiro pulls up a seat next to Keith in the breakroom, she notices even more of the flyers, and they’re _everywhere._ Tacked to walls, the fridge, the microwave, scattered across tables, and a few even wound up on the floor. 

Keith doesn’t seem to have noticed. That, or she noticed and has taken extra care to ignore the flyers once she realized they were Lance’s doing.

Keith greets Shiro with a crooked smile and a small wave of her fingers. She rolls her eyes at the flyer in Shiro’s hand, before Shiro can say a word.

“No. He’s gone too far,” Keith says sternly, “He can _not_ make me play a team sport. Nope.”

It’s Shiro’s turn to smile, wicked and knowing.

*

Keith had turned out to be all bark and only a little bite--her motorcycle pulls up loud and fast to slide in next to Shiro’s car. Keith’s thick, dark hair is pulled back into tight braids that dangle down her back. She’s wearing one of the free shirts the league gives out to every team, as a free ‘uniform’--Altea Tech got stuck with a shockingly bright pink this year. 

Shiro thinks she’s never seen someone pout as aggressively as Keith is, dragging her feet as they walk together to their field. Fellow employees, and now teammates, greet Shiro with smiles and joyful waves, but the dark look on Keith’s face makes them steer clear of her.

Shiro shoves a shoulder into Keith’s, shocking her for a moment out of her intensely focused frown. It looks ridiculous, and a little adorable, paired with her braids and hot pink uniform.

“You and I both know you’re going to end up having fun,” Shiro says softly.

Keith makes a disgruntled face and shrugs.

“Come on, let’s warm up,” Shiro says with a laugh, and wraps an arm around Keith’s shoulders to walk her firmly onto the field.

For all of Keith’s complaining, she’s easily one of the more athletic people on the team. She moves with a natural grace, with light steps and sharp reflexes. Shiro played some softball when she was younger, and after a few moments of throwing a ball back and forth with Keith, her muscles start to remember the mechanics.

The game kicks off with a coin flip, and Altea Tech gets home field advantage. Lance’s enthusiastic cheering is sharp and abrasive to even Shiro’s ears, and she winces. Keith looks murderous.

Their team is… actually pretty good. The Project Manager Keith and Shiro both work under, Allura, is graceful and quick. Her billowing white hair streams behind her as she steals extra bases, scoring their first run of the season.

When it’s Shiro’s turn to bat, she takes a couple practice swings. Her prosthetic arm glinting in the sunlight. The other team seems to eye it suspiciously, unsure if it’s an unfair advantage or a weakness. Shiro knows it’s neither--her co-worker Pidge had developed the design, and at Shiro’s request it functioned as close to her other arm as possible.

Shiro shrugs her shoulders to work the tension out of them, settling into her stance. She can see Keith leaning out of the dugout, watching her with rapt attention.

The next pitch is perfect, and Shiro swings hard. The bat makes contact with a loud clang that vibrates up her arms, and the ball sails deep into left center. Shiro starts running, watching the ball fly. The other team’s outfielders make a valiant run for it, but the bright yellow ball drops a few feet beyond the fence--a home run.

Shiro tosses her bat on her way to first, grinning wide at Keith as she goes.

“So that’s how it’s gonna be, huh?” Keith yells as Shiro rounds first base. Shiro catches the glint in Keith’s eyes and it sends a thrill through her.

Keith and Lance’s relationship has always been confrontational, borderline hostile at times, but this was different. With Shiro Keith just gets competitive, and it brings out a similar streak in Shiro. Their competition isn’t hostile at all, it’s fast and a little rough, and it’s incredibly _fun._

Shiro finishes her loop of the bases, striding across home plate confidently and slapping the hands of her teammates on her way into the dugout. Keith stands at the end of it, arms crossed and face schooled into an unimpressed expression.

“Not bad, Shirogane,” Keith says, her voice warm and low.

“Thanks,” Shiro smiles and takes a large swig from her water. She stumbles for a half-step when Keith nudges an elbow into her side, and tugs one of Keith’s long braids in retaliation.

The rest of the game goes smoothly, Altea Tech beating their first opponent of the season 4-1. They celebrate their victory at their usual haunt, a rundown sci-fi themed dive bar called The Robot Lion, and Lance buys the first round. Shiro looks at the group of them spread across a couple tables, looking like a menace in magenta shirts. Lance seems to have noticed the same thing, and his face is thoughtful as he sips his beer.

“Something’s missing,” he observes, making a show of looking around at all of their outfits. Lance grins slowly, and Shiro can feel Keith sink deeper into her seat at Shiro’s side. “We need real uniforms.”

-

Lance’s ‘real uniforms’ are a matter of great secrecy, as he wanders around at work the next week, asking the staff random and increasingly personal questions. _What size shirt do you wear? What’s your favorite color? Do you have any allergies?_

Shiro can usually weather Lance’s shenanigans, but even she is growing nervous as the questions grow more odd. _Who is your favorite renaissance painter? If you were a bean, what kind of bean would you be? Pineapple on pizza?_ Lance is surprisingly quiet about whatever he has in the works, which is even more worrying. In the years that Shiro has known Lance, he’s never been able to keep a secret for more than a couple hours. 

Altea Tech’s ragtag team wins their second game the next week, trouncing the team from the local library branch. Shiro feels a little bad for them by the end, but they seemed to be in good spirits. After the game, Shiro even invites them out to the bar to have a well-earned drink, and while they decline, they smile brightly at Shiro and talk with her on the slow walk back to the parking lot.

Lance made a particularly good catch during the last inning, and an hour later at the bar, he’s still talking about it. He’s animated, miming the catch in a very dramatic reenactment for anyone who will give him a sliver of attention. He checks often to see if Allura is watching, his obvious crush embarrassing in its force.

Turning away from Lance during his tenth or eleventh retelling, Shiro knocks elbows gently with Hunk, one of the analysts in their department. That same inning, he had his own moment of glory--making a difficult tag at home plate.

Hunk’s brown eyes are warm when he turns them to Shiro. “You had a pretty great play yourself, Hunk,” Shiro says with a smile.

Hunk’s rich brown skin darkens with a blush, and he shrugs. 

“She’s right, that was a great tag,” Keith chimes in from across the table, offering a rare compliment. It’s not that Keith is _mean,_ or even unkind, but she isn’t as free with praise as Shiro can be. That usually means when Keith compliments someone, she really means it.

Hunk blushed even darker, and his smile at Keith is brilliant. Keith meets Shiro’s fond gaze over her drink and Keith goes pink with a blush of her own.

-

Lance sends out a group text on Friday afternoon, informing them that their game time was bumped up 30 minutes. When Shiro pulls up, the parking lot is pretty empty except for a few vehicles he recognizes--Allura’s sleek silver car, Hunk’s well-loved Jeep. 

When they make it to the field, Lance is sitting on the bleachers with 2 large boxes and a shit-eating grin. He waits until they have formed a small semi-circle around him before speaking. Shiro can hear Keith shifting her weight in impatience and quietly puts a hand on Keith’s back and feels the muscles wound tight under her touch. 

“Welcome, team. I bet you’re wondering why I’ve gathered you all here today,” Lance announces, projecting his voice and steepling his fingers.

“Just say it, Lance,” Keith grits out. Lance frowns at her, starting to deflate. 

“Lance, we’d love to know why you gathered us here early. Please tell us,” Allura translates, with a quick wink at Shiro. They both know how easily Keith and Lance get out of hand if nobody intervenes.

“I present to you…. The Altea Tech official team uniform!” Lance announces, with a sweeping gesture at the boxes. He unzips his own jacket, revealing his uniform to the team. Shiro isn’t sure if Lance expected applause, but what he gets is a stunned silence.

The shirt he’s wearing is a shiny black, accented with a bright blue design of a… lion? Shiro squints, but the material is so reflective and Lance is moving, pulling the sleeves of his jacket off--she’s pretty sure it’s a lion.

Lance spins around, showing them the back of his uniform. In the same bright blue and a shocking white, is MCCLAIN in large block letters. Without waiting for an invitation, Lance starts rummaging in the boxes, tossing shirts to their new owners.

When Shiro catches hers, she realizes that it looks different than Lance’s. Instead of a bright royal blue, Shiro’s name is lettered in a deep violet. A quick glance across the group assembled reveals they seem to all be different accent colors--a pale pink for Allura, sunflower yellow for Hunk.

Pidge, holding a tiny uniform accented in forest green, pipes up, “Hey Lance? I’m not an expert in sports, but… aren’t they supposed to be all the same color?” 

Lance doesn’t miss a beat, answering, “Yes, usually! But I figured we would be the only team with a real uniform, _and_ I cleared it with the league and the umpires.”

“Why Lions?” Matt asks from behind Pidge. They’re mirror images--though maybe one of those funhouse mirrors that distorts shapes, since Pidge is almost a foot shorter--bright amber eyes and strawberry blonde hair. Anyone could tell from looking at them that they’re siblings, and the similarities continue into their sharp wit and wounding sarcasm.

Lance finally falters, stuttering out an answer, “Because lions are fierce! And the Lion King! And…” He trails off, turning away from Matt to busy himself with the second box--clearly that was the best answer he was going to get.

“And because Lions are Allura’s favorite animals,” Keith whispers to Shiro, startling her into a laugh. Shiro has no doubt it’s true--Lance had been smitten with Allura since the first time she smiled across a table at him in his interview.

The team changes without too much complaint, shoving their bright pink league shirts into their bags. Shiro hesitates for a moment, thinking about the scars that slash across the skin of her torso. Keith notices, she always does, and tilts her head at the small brick building at the center of the four fields. 

Shiro smiles at her gratefully and nods, following Keith’s lithe steps to the more secluded building. The bathrooms are unlocked, luckily, and they step inside to change. 

Shiro eyes the tiny stall, thinking of shoving herself into one and trying to change clothes. Shaking her head with a small laugh, she lifts her shirt off and over her head. Somehow, it feels safe changing with Keith here, in a way Shiro rarely feels. 

Nevertheless, she pulls the silky material of the uniform over her head. The fabric is a little stretchy, which is good because it’s fitted close to her body. Shiro’s biceps swell out of the sleeves, and she rolls her shoulders, settling the fabric across her muscles. Somehow, with all of his weird prying questions, Lance had ordered a uniform top that fit Shiro well and seemed well-suited to her shape.

Shiro turns to Keith to marvel at how Lance managed to pull it off, but her mouth goes dry at the sight of Keith. The other woman stands only a few feet away, clad in her sports bra and leggings. A tattoo, small daisies woven through a spread of chrysanthemums wraps around Keith’s hip and up to her ribs. 

Shiro knew, theoretically, that Keith had a tattoo, but seeing it was something else. The contrast of the dark ink against Keith’s pale skin was gorgeous and striking, and Shiro couldn’t take her eyes off of it. Keith always presents as so tough, so strong, and the delicacy of the flowers inked up her side is a surprise.

_Damn. That’s hot._

The thought makes Shiro flush as if she’d said it out loud, heat flooding her face. Luckily, Keith is focused on shoving her arms into the sleeves of her uniform top, grumbling under her breath. Shiro can’t make out exactly what Keith is muttering, but she thinks she hears ‘Lance’ and ‘ridiculous.’

Pulling the top down her torso and shielding her tattoo from Shiro’s hungry gaze, Keith turned to face Shiro with hands on her hips and a grumpy frown. She gives Shiro a once-over, expression slowly shifting into one of appreciation. 

“Jeez, Shirogane, who knew you were so built?” Keith asks teasingly, admiring the way Shiro’s uniform clings to her muscles and curves. For the first time, Shiro finds herself growing warm, absolutely positive her cheeks and the tips of her ears are bright pink.

Shiro tries to brush off the comment, rolling her eyes playfully at Keith before returning to the dugout and getting started on a warm-up. Looking around at the team, Shiro has to hand it to Lance--they look pretty great. Each person has an accent color that compliments them, and the uniforms seem… suspiciously well fitted. Shiro hadn’t been sure how her answer to _Which Pride and Prejudice adaptation is your favorite?_ helped Lance figure out her perfect sizing and color, but his method had worked.

Lance is beaming, watching the team mill around with pride. When Lance first proposed his new position, Shiro was concerned that it wouldn’t be as helpful as Lance made it sound. But watching her co-workers warm up together, talking and laughing as easy as breathing, Shiro understands the purpose. This is the perfect job for Lance, and as unconventional as it seems at face value, it’s improved the way they work together. As Keith jogs onto the field to warm up with Hunk, Shiro sidles up to Lance, slinging an arm around his shoulders.

“We look great, Lance. Well done.” Shiro says, smiling warmly at Lance. She gives him a little squeeze before joining Keith and the others on the field.

-

The next few games are all wins for Altea Tech, which is a small surprise to everyone. Most of the employees who volunteered for the summer softball league hadn’t played before, a few had never even been to a baseball park. They learn quickly, athleticism and enthusiasm making up for the lack of experience. Shiro also notices that not only are they getting better as individuals, but they’re moving more and more like a well-oiled machine.

Everyone is getting in on it. Hunk found a local batting cage and coordinated carpooling to get people there on a weekend--the drive wasn’t long, but it was a bonding experience in itself, complete with some unexpected reveals about music tastes and singing voices. Pidge scheduled a ‘meeting’ for a few key players, to approach their batting lineup with a scientific strategy, which led them to their highest score of the season the following week.

Shiro, on the other hand, is too distracted to lead any efforts. Since they got their new uniforms, more honestly since she saw the tattoo twining around Keith’s ribs and side, she can’t stop thinking about it.

Not just the tattoo either. She’s distracted by how unbelievably _attractive_ Keith is. It’s the way her hair falls in graceful waves down her back, or how it looks pulled into a mussed, hasty bun. It’s the way her lips wrap around the pen she chews on during meetings, and her sharp smile when she catches Shiro watching.

It’s the way her body stretches when she’s reaching for a tool on a high shelf, and the way her muscles bunch under her shirt when she’s carrying something heavy. It’s the low, warm voice she uses when she’s whispering jokes in Shiro’s ear, and the way her breath dances along Shiro’s skin as she does. It’s the way she laughs when a joke catches her off-guard, loud and vivid.

It’s everything about Keith, and Shiro’s distracted as hell.

A bracket gets posted before the sixth game of the season, with teams written in the distinctive colors of their uniforms. Two teams seem to be leading, with no losses so far for either of them. Altea Tech, scrawled in bright pink lettering, and another team in lime green, the Galra, Inc. 

Altea Tech wins their sixth game, a hard fought victory against a local accounting company. Another win, another night of celebrating at The Robot Lion. Lance, ever the lightweight, has a couple beers and starts offering to buy rounds of drinks for everyone. Luckily, Allura convinces him to stop after two rounds, but it’s too late. Shiro can feel the gentle buzz of the alcohol under her skin, making the world brighter and blurrier.

She leans against Keith, dropping her head onto Keith’s shoulder and nuzzling into her soft hair. It’s in a loose braid tonight, falling over Keith’s shoulder and onto her chest, and Shiro can’t help but revel in the tickling of strands against her skin. Keith just laughs quietly, shifting just enough for Shiro to be a little more comfortable.

Shiro takes a deep breath, smelling salt and dirt and… something floral? She thinks it might be lavender, soft and soothing. Pushing her face harder into Keith’s hair, she inhales again. It’s definitely Keith’s shampoo, and it’s _heavenly._

“You smell good,” Shiro mumbles. She can feel Keith’s laugh rumble through her body at Shiro’s words. Shiro feels warm all over, and hot where the skin of her face is smushed against Keith’s uniform.

Keith says something to the group quietly and walks Shiro outside to sit in the cool air while she sobers up a bit. Shiro leans her head back in her chair, staring at the night sky. To her disappointment, but not surprise, the light pollution is too strong for her to make out the stars.

Shiro sighs deeply at the thought, catching Keith’s attention. Keith turns curious eyes to her, asking, “What’s got you down, pretty lady?”

“I miss the stars. I hate that we can’t see them here,” Shiro says blankly. Keith hums her agreement but stays quiet, turning her own gaze to the sky.

Shiro continues, “I just want to go stargazing. To drive out into nowhere and spend a few hours laying out, just watching them.”

Keith shrugs, “We could do that.”

Luckily for Shiro, Keith’s gaze is still fixed above them--she doesn’t see the way Shiro blushes, imagining hours spent under the stars together. Her thoughts sprint away from her, long limbs tangled together on a soft blanket, soft starlight dancing in Keith’s eyes, reverent fingers tracing the curves of daisies.

Shiro thinks she mumbles a reply, but she’s not really sure. Her voice feels caught in her throat, tangled with a thousand feelings she hasn’t made sense of yet. After a few more quiet moments in the cool night air, they rejoin the team to pay their tabs and make their way towards home. 

Walking out to their cars, Shiro looks hers up and down, realizing that it will be a little while before she can drive. She sighs again, shoulders slumping as she prepares to climb into the backseat. She probably only needs an hour or two, and she might as well nap while she waits. 

Keith stops Shiro with a hand on her arm. “Leave it here tonight, I’ll give you a ride,” Keith offers. She says it with such surety, Shiro starts following her down the street before she remembers _what_ Keith had driven here.

Keith’s motorcycle, small and sleek and a vibrant red, is parked in a side alley down the block, and it takes a little bit of convincing on her end that both of them will fit on the bike, let alone make it safely to Shiro’s apartment. Keith wins the argument on willpower alone, potentially aided by Shiro’s growing crush. 

Aided _a lot_ by her crush, if she’s honest with herself.

Shiro isn’t sure where Keith pulls a second helmet from, but it fits cozily against her head when Keith fastens the strap under Shiro’s chin with nimble fingers. Keith’s knuckles drag against the skin of her neck, sending shivers down Shiro’s spine.

Still uncertain, climbs on the bike and wraps tentative arms around Keith’s slender waist. Keith laughs, soft and light, before saying, “You’re going to have to hold on a little tighter than that.” Shiro scooches just a little closer, holding Keith just a little bit more securely.

Keith starts up the motorcycle and slowly pulls out of her parking spot--Shiro’s pretty sure Keith’s driving much slower than she normally does, for Shiro’s sake. As they gain speed, Shiro finds herself sliding forward, tightening her grip around Keith’s waist until they’re pressed close together. Shiro feels like she’s flying, and while she knows all the reasons she should be wearing a helmet, a part of her wishes she could feel the wind in her hair, or the tickle of Keith’s against her skin.

The drive is relatively quick, but Keith insists on making sure Shiro gets inside safely, so they make the slow trudge up three flights of stairs to Shiro’s apartment. Shiro pulls her keys out of her pocket and hesitates, still not used to the way being around Keith makes her unsure and tentative. 

“Thanks for the ride,” Shiro manages, with a lopsided smile.

Keith grins right back, “Anytime, Shiro.”

There’s a million things racing through Shiro’s head and she’s afraid any one of them could spill unbidden from her mouth, so she just turns and unlocks the door, watching Keith’s braid bounce as she heads back down the stairs. The light steps echo in her head as she slips inside, closing the door softly behind her.

Pressing her back against the closed door, Shiro takes a deep breath before she’s struck with a sudden thought.She races back outside, peering over the railing to find Keith still downstairs. Shiro calls down to her, “Keith!”

Keith looks up at her, and in the dim yellow light of the streetlight, Shiro thinks she can make out a fond smile on her face. Shiro waits a moment, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth, then says, at a more tentative volume, “Did you call me pretty earlier?”

Keith seems surprised, mouth falling open into a small ‘o’ before she snaps it closed. Then she smiles, and Shiro knows without seeing that it’s sharp and playful.

Then she answers, simply and earnestly, “I did, and you are.”

-

The Altea Tech Lions (an unofficial name but one everyone seems to have adopted), wins their next two games. Their competitive streak grows as they near their final game against Daizaazal, Inc., and so does Shiro’s crush.

It catches her off guard in the quiet moments, a morning when Keith silently drops an iced coffee on Shiro’s desk with a sweet smile, and a late night at work when they don’t leave until sunset and Keith looks dipped in gold. It’s overwhelming sometimes, realizing just how much she likes Keith, how lovely she is, how long she went not even noticing somehow.

Maybe that’s not right. It wasn’t that she _hadn’t_ noticed, anyone with eyes noticed how gorgeous Keith was. It wasn’t a revelation, it was a fact. It was something Shiro knew to be true, like the existence of gravity, or the sun rising in the East and setting in the West. 

For the last few weeks, she’s been all too aware of it. It’s impossible for her to ignore, and she knows Keith has noticed. She’s caught Shiro staring more than once, meeting Shiro’s gaze with her own curious one, but she doesn’t ask. 

An hour before the final game, they’re sitting scattered across the hard metal bleachers. Lance bought thick black eyeliner for what he called “war paint.” What had actually happened, was people pairing up to draw on each other’s faces. Hunk and Pidge opted for thick black stripes on their cheeks, smeared down towards their jaws. Allura and Lance have more precise stripes, cutting an even line below their eyes.

Shiro sits across from Keith, knees bumping together as Keith scooches closer and raises her eyeliner pencil with a wicked glint in her eye.

“Do you trust me?” she asks, voice low.

Shiro makes a show of squinting at her suspiciously, then nods and closes her eyes, leaning in closer. Keith’s chuckle is warm and musical.

The pencil drags across Shiro’s skin, pulling at it gently. Keith’s touch against her cheeks is careful and soft, but Shiro can’t figure out what exactly she’s drawing. Then she feels the touch of the pencil on the tip of her nose and jerks back, eyes flying open. 

Keith isn’t deterred, she stares Shiro down with hands on her hips and a cute pout, “You said you trusted me. Close your eyes and get back here.”

Shiro utters an uncertain ‘hmph’ and concedes, leaning forward again and letting her eyes flutter closed. The touch returns to her nose, circling the tip in rapid movements. Seemingly finished with her masterpiece, Keith leans back and Shiro feels the distance immediately. 

She opens one eye to peer at Keith, who’s smiling wide and holding out a small mirror. Shiro holds it up, finding a small cat nose at the tip of her own and whiskers drawn in sharp black lines across her cheeks. 

Laughter bursts out of her, shocked and silly, and Keith joins in with a cackle. 

“This is probably not what Lance meant when he said war paint,” Shiro points out through her laughter. 

“He put the lion faces on the uniform, he only has himself to blame,” Keith answers, “Come on, my turn.”

Shiro draws matching whiskers on Keith’s cheeks, relishing the softness of her skin and the contrast of thick black pencil against it. She has to stop a few times because Keith won’t stop giggling, but eventually it’s done and Keith looks _devastatingly_ cute. The cutest thing Shiro has ever seen, by a long shot.

Shiro ignores Lance’s glare at their face paint, but Keith seems to enjoy it a little too much, barely keeping a straight face until they are out of earshot. Their warm up is an easy thing, and before too long, Lance is at the plate with the other teams’ captain. The man is huge, standing almost a foot higher than Lance, and twice as wide. 

Peering at the dugout across the field, Shiro realizes they’re all huge. Even the women are tall and ripple with muscles, wearing their bright green league shirts with the sleeves cut off to reveal the swell of their biceps.

 _Damn,_ Shiro thinks, _I wonder where they work out._

On the other hand, the employees from Galra, Inc. seem grumpy. There isn’t a smile to be found on any of their faces, just stern grimaces and dark glares. Shiro wonders what type of work they must do, to be such unhappy people. Maybe she _doesn’t_ want to know where they work out. 

“Is it just me, or do they seem a little…” Keith trails off.

“Terrifying?” Shiro offers.

With a small grimace, Keith nods. Lance jogs back to the dugout, and gathers them into a huddle.

“Alright, we’re on the field first, does everyone know what position they need to get to?” Lance asks in a hushed tone, as if he thinks the other team may have a spy nearby. There’s a quiet chorus of assent from all of them, and Lance nods, continuing, “Great. Now let’s get out there and show those hulking monsters what Altea Tech is made out of!”

It should be ridiculous--the mismatched face paint, Lance’s rousing speech, the curling silver ribbons Allura has woven through some of their hair. But as Shiro looks around, taking in the faces of her coworkers, and now her teammates, her heart feels full to bursting. She thought the idea of a summer softball league was pretty ridiculous, but maybe Lance was on to something.

Before they separate, Shiro thrusts her hand into the air between them, leveling a determined look at Lance.

“Lions on three?” she asks, mirroring Lance’s failed cheer from the start of the season. His eyes when he meets her gaze are just a little glassy, but he slaps his hand on top of hers with a firm nod. 

To Lance’s shock, but only as a mild surprise ro Shiro, Keith’s hand is the next one on the pile. She looks at Shiro through her lashes and gives a tiny shrug as the others all crowd in and add their hands into the middle. Lance counts them off and they cheer loudly, wildly, cries tapering off into laughter. 

Gloves on, Shiro and Keith jog out to their positions, Shiro slowing to a stop at first base. As Keith continues on towards shortstop, Shiro feels a light smack against her butt. She starts, whipping her head around and watching the culprit sprint away with a rough laugh. Keith looks back at Shiro over her shoulder, winking playfully before taking her position on the field.

Galra, Inc. is definitely the toughest team they’ve played all summer. They fight for every run, and pull off some spectacularly daring defensive plays to keep the other team from running up the score. A couple of ‘accidents’ happen along the way, leaving two Altea tech players on the bench with injuries they’re elevating and icing. One of the injured players is Coran, Allura’s uncle, and it’s only then that he realizes his true calling as a cheerleader. His chants and taunts distract the Garla players just enough, causing a strike out one inning, and an embarrassing error the next.

As time goes on, a determined glint enters the eyes of the Altea Tech players. Pidge is practically growling, carrying a surprising amount of rage for such a small person. Keith is leaned against the dugout fence, watching Hunk at the plate with impressive focus. Her fingers are poked through the holes in the chain link, and Shiro can see where they’ve turned white from Keith’s hard grip.

Shiro hesitates for a moment, then touches her fingertips lightly to the back of Keith’s hand. Her grip on the fence lightens, but the tension in her posture doesn’t ease. She looks up at Shiro and grimaces, returning her eyes to the game after a brief moment.

“It’s just a game, Keith, it’s alright,” Shiro says softly, shuffling closer until the side of her body is pressed gently against Keith’s. 

“I know,” Keith answers, “I just don’t like bullies.”

Shiro hums in assent, taking in the field for herself. There’s a menacing look to the expression of the fielders’ faces, and it’s a little chilling. This is a community slowpitch league--it’s one thing to be competitive, but this is something else entirely. Keith is right; they seem like bullies who are used to getting their way. 

“Me neither,” Shiro murmurs. 

A wicked grin splits Keith’s face and she breathes out a light, airy laugh. “Guess we have to win then, huh?”

Shiro grins right back.

-

It’s the last half of the last inning of the game, and Altea Tech is behind by two runs. Shiro slumps onto one of the dugout benches, hissing as the broken skin on her knee protests at the bend. She tore a hole in her leggings last inning, sliding into third and crashing hard into the other team’s baseman. Shiro had been called safe, but the inning ended before she could get across home plate. 

The third baseman’s snickers as she bent to examine the source of the blood trickling down her calf made Shiro’s blood boil. It’s still simmering now, a few minutes later.

Seeming even angrier about the mocking than Shiro is Keith. Her eyes burned bright and fiery as Shiro jogged back into the dugout and sat where Keith could pull the fabric away from her scraped skin and check the injury. Keith’s fingers were gentle and light, despite the way her forehead creased in obvious anger. 

Keith splashed water over the scrape as softly as she could manage, and whispered soothing words and apologies under her breath at Shiro’s sharp inhale. 

Lance hits a surprising double, bouncing over the fence in right-center. Not generally the most powerful offensive player, Lance is _fast._ Hunk is able to hit him around the bases, scoring the tying run in a mad dash to home plate and a wide slide. Lance sprints back to the dugout hooting and hollering, vaulting himself into the waiting arms and cheering of his teammates. 

Shiro thinks to herself that she’s glad Lance gets his moment of glory. He worked hard in a million ways to make this experience happen, and he’s more than earned the joy of this moment.

One more out and a spectacular display of batting prowess and speed later, Keith is on third base, nursing a swollen lip and sporting a wide grin. The long line drive she had floated into right field had slipped just under the fielders’ glove, and they wasted precious time turning to chase after it. Long legs carrying her impossibly fast, Keith had sprinted for a triple, colliding with the shortstop where they blocked the bag. The larger woman’s elbow had “accidentally” smacked against Keith’s face during the collision, but Keith had sprung back to her feet quickly, smiling her sharp smile and spitting into the dirt.

Shiro takes a deep breath before approaching home plate, stepping out to loosen her muscles with a couple practice swings. On a whim, before she turns to plant both feet in the box, she levels her bat at Keith, pointing to her and winking, a promise and a challenge. She’s going to make sure Keith gets across that plate, come hell or high water. 

Keith mouths “Prove it” back at her, and it thrills Shiro. She turns and settles into her stance, bending her knees and turning her gaze to the pitcher. God, the guy must be close to seven feet tall, looming large and wide enough to block light from Shiro’s vision. She lets the first pitch pass, using it to find her rhythm and timing. She doesn’t need to swing for the fence, just move Keith along enough to score the winning run. She can do that.

The next pitch is low, bouncing against the plate. Shiro thinks she can see beads of sweat trickling down the pitcher’s temple as he settles in for the next one. He winds up, swinging his arm back and then forward, bright yellow ball falling in a perfect arc to the plate. 

Shiro swings and the bat connects with a loud crack. The ball flies out into left center field, a low pop up that drops right behind the shortstop. Shiro starts towards first base, but it’s half-hearted--she knows it doesn’t really matter. She saw Keith take off towards home plate the moment she made contact, graceful, strong legs pumping. The center fielder scoops up the ball quickly, and she rifles off a throw to the catcher. Shiro sees it as if it’s in slow motion, Keith and the ball both racing toward the same destination.

Mere steps before the moment of truth, Keith lowers, flying forward in a dive across the plate. She hits the catcher’s legs hard, knocking him off balance, and his glove hand flies up to catch himself before he lands on his ass. Away from Keith. Away from the tag he’d need to make to keep Altea Tech from winning.

The umpire’s cry of “Safe!” is lost to the roaring in Shiro’s ears--from her own brain and from the dugout behind her. _They won._

Abandoning the pretense of running towards first base, Shiro turns and moves back towards Keith. It’s like she’s trapped in Keith’s orbit, pulled by unstoppable and unexplainable forces. Keith’s violet eyes blaze bright as she gets to her feet, coated in dirt across her front and back, but looking no less gorgeous for it.

She takes off, sprinting just a few feet before she’s close enough to launch herself into Shiro’s arms. Shiro catches her and they spin wildly, Keith’s legs swinging wide while her arms wrap around Shiro’s neck. Shiro staggers with the force of it, but it doesn’t matter.

Keith feels light and perfect in her arms and soon they’re eveloped by the rest of the team, squished together in a mass of sweaty, dirty bodies, loud laughter and bright cheering. The massive group hug loosens as people step away, so Shiro has no excuse for how tight she’s still holding Keith. She lowers Keith down to the ground, and the way Keith’s body slides down against Shiro’s sends heat through her limbs, pooling in her stomach.

The cheers quiet to a dull hum around them, all Shiro can hear is Keith’s ragged breath and the thundering of her own heartbeat in her ears. Keith’s face is so close now, Shiro can see the flecks of light brown dirt splattered across her cheek, and count the colors in her eyes. She can see where Keith’s lower lip is swollen on one side, red and almost pouty. Shiro raises gentle fingers to the swell, and Keith smiles against her fingertips.

“You don’t have to make that face, it’s fine,” Keith whispers.

“What face?”

“The cute little nose crinkle. You do that when you’re worried,” Keith says fondly. There’s a smile in her voice. Shiro feels her heart swoop in her chest and the moment feels tenuous, fragile.

Matt chooses that moment to attempt to pour gatorade on them, “as a victory celebration,” he yells as everyone scatters and the moment breaks. Keith is quiet on the walk to the parking lot, smiling when various people approach her with a clap to the shoulder, or a compliment. She only looks at Shiro once, as she’s climbing onto her bike, a fierce look that makes Shiro flush with warmth, then she’s driving away towards The Robot Lion.

The bartenders have gotten pretty invested in Altea Tech’s season over the last 10 weeks, and they send out a free round of drinks on the house in celebration. Keith gets there first, arm draped over the empty seat next to her at one end of the long table. When Shiro walks in Keith beckons her over, pulling the chair out and inviting Shiro to sit. 

Now, Shiro scoots a little closer to the table, wrapping her fingers around the cold glass of her beer, and her uninjured knee nudges into Keith’s. Shiro pulls away, ready to quietly apologize, but Keith returns the pressure, her leg warm against Shiro’s. 

Conversation up and down the table is lively, fueled by their exciting victory and free alcohol, but it seems to fade to an unintelligible buzz to Shiro’s ears. It’s as if there’s a bubble wrapping around her and Keith and their air between them. Shiro wonders for a moment if Keith feels it too, but Keith’s hand sliding across the table top to Shiro’s, twining calloused fingers through Shiro’s own, tells her what she needs to know. 

When Shiro turns in her seat, facing Keith more fully, she realize how close they’re sitting. The whiskers on Keith’s cheeks are smudged and there’s flecks of sand and white chalk in her hair. Keith’s lip is still swollen, looking like the skin around it may bruise faintly. Shiro brings reverent fingers to it again, her touch butterfly-light.

Keith’s lips tilt in a small smile, and Shiro asks, “How’s it feeling?”

“It’s not so bad,” Keith says softly, lips barely moving, and the air she breathes out dances over Shiro’s skin. Shiro’s fingertips trail lightly down to Keith’s jaw, and sees her chest hitch at the touch. 

Shiro brings her other hand up to hold Keith’s head, fingertips buried in her hair to hold her carefully, because she’s precious and sacred and the most important thing Shiro’s ever held. She dips her face to Keith’s and kisses her. It’s soft and sweet and nothing like Shiro thought their first kiss might be. She had always imagined fire and bruising passion, a crash of lips and teeth. 

It’s perfect anyway, because it’s Keith. Keith, who’s trembling in Shiro’s grip, breath coming in shaky, shallow pants. Keith, whose eyes flutter open slowly, like she’s coming out of a trance as Shiro pulls back. Her face is too hot, Keith is too far away from her, there’s too many _people,_ but Keith brings a hand up to wrap around Shiro’s wrist, squeezing, and none of it matters.

“Oi! Get a room down there!” Shiro hears, followed by bawdy cheering. When she can tear her gaze from the way the bar lights rest on Keith’s cheekbones, Shiro sees their teammates clapping and laughing. Matt wolf whistles loudly, earning himself a light smack on the arm from Pidge, but she’s beaming, too. 

Keith’s laugh joins the rest, and it’s like music, happy and a little surprised and oh so fond. Shiro turns back to her and presses their foreheads together. She’s laughing too, laughing and pulling Keith back to her again to press a kiss to her lips, her cheek, the tip of her nose. 

Keith spends the rest of the night nestled under Shiro’s arm, and Shiro couldn’t care less about the dirt coating Keith from head to toe, or how long it’s going to take her to clean the eyeliner off her face when she gets home. She twirls the tips of Keith’s hair around her fingers, enjoying its softness and the fact that she _can_ and the way the silver ribbon in it catches the multi-colored lights. She thinks that maybe, at some point, she won’t be in awe of the woman in her arms, but that point is a long way off. 

They stay until just before the bar closes, the thrill of victory and steady conversation carrying them late into the night. When they step out into the late night air, it’s crisp and just this side of cold, an omen of the quickly approaching autumn.

Shiro takes a deep breath, but the chilled air does nothing to soothe the warmth radiating out of her. Not while Keith’s arm is wrapped around her, hand gripping her waist firmly. They part briefly to be squeezed tightly by Hunk, and then Allura. Shiro wraps an arm around Lance’s shoulder and pulls him close for a quick hug, but Keith just nods and flashes him a quick grin.

They might need a _little_ more teambuilding.

Shiro eyes Keith’s bike for a moment before remarking quietly, “I don’t think I’m quite ready to go home yet.”

Keith wordlessly hands Shiro a helmet, and joy swoops through Shiro as they climb on Keith’s bike. She doesn’t bother leaving space this time, sliding close to Keith until their thighs are pressed together, her arms wrapped tight around Keith’s waist. 

Shiro isn’t sure where they’re going, but she breathes into it, breathes into Keith, and she’s not really sure she cares.


End file.
